at your station.
Which is it?"

"My friends? Oh! I don't know. I guess--I guess I haven't any."

She turned away slowly, her heart too heavy for further speech, even
had there been any speech possible; and there was Joe, the faithful
and silent, laying his hand on her shoulder and guiding her back to
their own bench.

"One girl runs away, get lost. Joe go home no more."

"Poor Joe, dear Joe. I had no idea of running away. But I saw
somebody, that boy who was at the island this summer, and I tried to
make him see me. Too late, as the man said. He has gone, and now we,
too, must go somewhere. I'll ask that nice woman. She'll tell us, I
think," and she again sought the matron.

"Yes. I do know a good place for you, if--they'll take you in. Meaning
no harm miss, but you see, you aren't fixed just the same, and the
Indian----"

"Is it a question of clothes? It's not the clothing makes the
character, my uncle says."

"No, miss, I suppose not. All the same they go a mighty long way
toward making friends, leastways in this big city. And Indians----"

"Joe Wills is just as noble and as honest as any white man ever
lived!"

"Maybe so. Indeed, I'm not denying it, but Indians are Indians, and
some landladies might think of tomahawks."

Margot's laugh rang out and the other smiled in sympathy.

"Joe, Joe! Would you scalp anybody?"

Then, indeed, was the red man's impassivity broken by a grin, which
happily relieved the situation, fast becoming tragic.

"Well, I'm not wise in city ways but I know that I can find a safe
shelter somewhere. I'm going to ask that policeman, yonder, to find us
a place."

"That's sensible, and I'll talk with him myself. If he isn't on duty
likely he'll take you to my friend's himself. By the way, who was that
you ran after and called to so loud? You shouldn't do that in a big,
strange station, you know."

"I suppose not; yet I needed him so, and it was Adrian, who's been at
my own home all summer. If he'd heard, or seen me, he would have taken
all the care, because this is where he's always lived. The same
familiar spot that--that dear Peace Island is to Joe and me," she
said, with a catch in her voice and laying her hand affectionately
upon his sleeve.

"Adrian? A Mr. Adrian?"

"Why, no. He is a Wadislaw. His father's name is Malachi Wadislaw, and
my business here is with him."

"Wadislaw, the banker? Why then, of course, it's all right. Officer,
please call a cab and take them